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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618635">A prelude to Spring</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outsider_Lookin_In/pseuds/Outsider_Lookin_In'>Outsider_Lookin_In</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A series of poor judgement calls [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cat Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Did I mention angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Good Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Good boyfriend Moomin, Hurt/Comfort, I promise there is an end to it, Injury, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Step-parents, and pain, anguish, but seriously, possibly suffering, strap yourself in</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:08:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618635</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outsider_Lookin_In/pseuds/Outsider_Lookin_In</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Far away, in the Mymblehouse, The Joxter has a Foreboding. Meanwhile, in an amazing coincidence, Snufkin is about to make an extremely poor judgement call.<br/>Travel, trials, tribulations, and two very tired Mumriks just trying to figure things out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joxaren | The Joxter &amp; Lilla My | Little My, Joxaren | The Joxter &amp; Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Joxaren | The Joxter/Mymlan | The Mymble, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A series of poor judgement calls [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>286</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written in response to readers comments. Something along the lines of "Will you please just let Joxter dad? He wants to. So badly."<br/>I am nothing if not obliging. Here is Joxter. Dadding with the best of them.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A cold wind blew through the camp, making the flames of the fire leap and dance and sending wild shadows dancing on the trees and the canvas tent. Snufkin shivered and threw another log on the fire. He pulled something from his pocket, turning it over in his hands as it shone in the firelight.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Mid-Winter had passed. Snufkin had gone to the town, as he said he would. He half expected Joxter not to come. It was a long way from Moominvalley and, as far as he could gather, also a long way from the Mymbles house. But Snufkin had turned the corner into the square and there he was, perusing the market stalls that had opened for the festival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin held back, watching his father closely. The man moved with almost calculated ease, wandering here and there, peering into stalls with curiosity, maybe picking up the odd trinket before putting it back and moving on. The stall holders were busy but Snufkin could see they were watching Joxter with a look he knew all too well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin had lifted the odd thing of course. A box of matches, a pouch of tobacco, maybe a piece of fruit, but on the whole he really tried not to steal things. When he was a kid it had been hunger that had driven him to it, but these days he was quite adept at finding his own food and he owned all the possessions he could ever imagine wanting or needing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t anything so flashy as a flick of the wrist that caught his eye. If he hadn’t been watching the Joxters hands like a hawk even he would have missed it. The small item was there, and then suddenly it wasn’t. With the same casual ease Joxter said something to the stallholder, who laughed and waved as Joxter walked away and Snufkin let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxters’ smile when he spotted Snufkin was nearly blinding, but Snufkin hardly saw it. Instead his eyes were glued to the four thin lines running parallel along his fathers’ cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were whiteish, glinting in the candlelight as Joxter moved. Snufkin had been too agitated at the time to take it in properly, and Moominmama had bandaged Joxters face by the next day, but up close he could see that the scratches had been both long and deep. Joxter stepped up beside him, taking his son's silence as a cue to shut up and watch the parade. Obscured by the brim of his hat, Snufkin was at liberty to fret unseen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Risking a glance up he could see that Joxter was still smiling, seemingly content with the whole situation, but the guilt twisted hot and heavy in Snufkins’ stomach. He had wandered for half the Winter wondering if his father would even come to meet him. He truly hadn’t expected that he would. But here he was, seemingly unfazed by the scars on his face or the fact that his own son had put them there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin looked back at the parade, the candlelight blurring together into a haze before his eyes. In his head he could hear every insult hurled at him that he was a vicious, wild little thing. The Hemulen lady at the orphanage had had to separate him from other children more than once when he was little. Feral, she had called him. Unsuited to be around civilized people. He thought he had managed to quell that side of himself, but the scars on Joxters’ face were proof that she had been right. Nobody wanted a child that scratched and bit when they got too close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gripped by the sudden fear that Joxter would leave Snufkin panicked. He had to do something to ease the guilt. To prove that he wasn’t just a feral Mumrik. Sneaking a peek to make sure Joxter was still watching the parade, Snufkin came to a decision. With the same casual ease he had seen earlier he made his move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter started. His hand had been empty until, suddenly, it wasn’t. Snufkins’ paw was warm and firm in his own, gripping carefully as though he was afraid he might hurt Joxter. Staring dead ahead so as not to startle him, Joxter gripped back. Beside him Snufkin blew out a quiet breath, relaxing his shoulders and leaning into his fathers’ warmth a little. Joxter watched the rest of the parade with a smile that split his face, ear to ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the parade had ended, the moon already high in the night sky, Snufkin had loosened his grip on his fathers’ hand, ready to head back to his tent and some much needed solitude. Joxter had let him go without protest, slipping a little round object into Snufkins’ hand with a wink before heading in the direction of the local inn and the sounds of festival merriment.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Sitting by his fire Snufkin turned the little blue fishing float over in his hands. It was a fine piece, hand painted and nicely rounded. The paint was shiny and smooth, glittering in the firelight in a way that would entice even the most recalcitrant of fish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was such an unnecessary thing. He owned two fishing floats already, he hardly needed a third and skilled though Joxter admittedly was, he had taken a risk to steal it. Police inspectors needed very little excuse to throw a Mumrik in jail in Snufkins’ experience. One shout of ‘thief’ from the stall holder and Joxter would have been cooling his heels in a cell before nightfall. It was a reckless move and that made Snufkin nervous, but he couldn’t deny the little ball of warm pleasure in his chest when he looked at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first birthday present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Snufkin put the float back in his pocket before putting out his fire and climbing into his tent. The days were lengthening slowly, every morning bringing another whisper of the Spring to come. For Snufkin it couldn’t come fast enough.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Before any of you tell me off for it, Snufkin is nineteen years old and can smoke if he wants to. Let's face it, none of us are going to be able to stop him.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Standing at the foot of the path into the Lonely Mountains Snufkin looked up at the still snowy peaks and wavered. He was early again. Very early.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wanderings hadn’t taken him far this Winter. After the light festival was finished he had originally planned to continue on south to revisit a favourite seaside haunt of his and maybe spend a week on the beach eating fresh mackerel and watching the waves lap at the shore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the sea just reminded him of long Summer days spent hunting for seashells with Moomin, and the sound of the waves didn’t bring him the peace they usually did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the same wherever he went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meadows reminded him of picnics with Moomin, making flower crowns and watching the clouds. The great oak forest brought back games of Tarzan and hide-and-seek. When he went into towns the smell of baked goods made his mouth water, remembering Moominmamas honey cakes and jam. And every time he took his fishing rod out he felt the ghost of his father beside him and he thought he could still feel the warm blood under his claws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made him angry at first. Winter was his and Moomin and his friends had no right to intrude on it like this. But the falseness of the feeling soon turned bitter in his mouth. It wasn’t Moomins fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin knew how much it hurt Moomin to stay behind every year. To stand on the bridge and wave goodbye as Snufkin walked away from him again. Snufkin had tried to spare him that at least by leaving before the break of dawn, sneaking out of the valley like a thief in the night, but that only hurt Moomin more, so they had come to an agreement. Snufkin wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, and Moomin would say goodbye and let him leave. Alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only, he wasn’t alone anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin had been with him every step of the way this Winter, waiting around every corner with a memory of warm paws and a joyful smile and a home, far away and buried under thick, thick snow, and Snufkin would turn from whatever beautiful vista he was looking at, unable to see it for the longing in his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So here he was. At the foot of the mountain pass and two weeks early.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing his pack down he sat down on a rock and pulled out his pipe, filling it and tamping it down with unnecessary force before striking the match. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a long pull, closing his eyes and letting the smoke burn his throat before exhaling. It calmed him a little. He took another, blowing the smoke out in a big cloud before looking back up the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was winding and narrow, climbing steeply into the foothills of the Lonely Mountains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had seemed so much bigger the first time he had walked it. Every step a discovery and every corner bringing new and exciting challenges. Now he could probably make the climb in his sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This would be his fifth year back in the valley. That was more than a fondness for a place. That was a habit, and habits had a cost. Snufkin knew that all too well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been a child when he started smoking. He’d made the pipe himself, whittling it from a piece of wood under the watchful eye of a fellow tramp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man had offered Snufkin a pull on his own pipe, “to warm his bones”, and Snufkin, never one to pass up a new experience, had taken it gladly. The taste was terrible, clinging to the roof of his mouth and burning his throat, but it had certainly warmed him up. The tramp had laughed, clapping Snufkin on the back and offering him some water for the coughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not bad for a first go,” he had said, taking the pipe back and blowing smoke rings into the sky, to Snufkins’ delight. The tramp had smiled at the child's enthusiasm. “I’ll teach you if you like,” he had said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Snufkin had learned how to whittle a pipe. How to fill it and tamp it and how to inhale without scorching his own lungs. The old man had taught him well, but he had left out a few important things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin had discovered the irritation for himself. The craving that niggled at him and made him short-tempered if left unattended for too long. He had also found out that tobacco, like most things, cost money. It was one of the few things Snufkin couldn’t forage for and though there were alternatives, dried marshmallow and mugwort, it wasn’t the same. So from time to time he would have to spend a day working, digging or carrying or some other menial job, in exchange for a pouch. Since he had befriended Moomin, Moominpapa would often find him sitting by his tent in Spring and press a pouch of their own into Snufkins’ hand with a wink. Moominvalley tobacco was the best there was and Snufkin used it sparingly, fighting the craving as long as he could before breaking it open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, sitting at the foot of the Lonely Mountains, he felt a very similar itch, but the cure was two days walk away, likely still fast asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t try the pass just yet young man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin jumped. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the old man coming up alongside him. Shaking himself, he turned to the man and smiled politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s still snow on the peak,” the man continued. “It’d be a foolish thing to try and make the pass before it melts. Best you stay here for a while m’boy. Another week or so ought to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin bristled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been through the pass before. I know the way well enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man peered at Snufkin through his bushy eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a hard climb, even for a seasoned traveller. A young thing like you? You’d catch your death up there, if you didn’t slip and break a leg first. Take my word for it, stay down here for a while. I’m sure you could find some work to pass the time. Lots of folks need help this time of year. Clearing fallen trees and whatnot. Surely there’s no rush? Nothing that interesting in that valley anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin had had enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you sir, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said sharply, picking his pack back up and stepping on to the path. The man called after him, but Snufkin ignored him as he started up the mountain path. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing interesting indeed, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought irritably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hiking his pack up more firmly Snufkin fixed his eyes on the top of the mountain. The most interesting thing in the world was just over that peak, fast asleep and dreaming of Spring.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments are always greatly appreciated ^^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Snufkin skidded, lurching forwards and nearly losing his balance on the narrow path before grabbing a tree trunk for support. He leaned against it, breathing heavily and taking a moment to gather his strength.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The climb was a lot harder than he was used to. Familiar paths were still snowed under, forcing him to loop around and find new ways. It was exciting in a way. To see such a familiar place transformed into a maze of new paths and dead-ends. Part of him was delighted. To have found some adventure so close to Moominvalley. Something new at the end of the Winter to tide him over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another part of him, however, was starting to get a little bit concerned about where he was going to sleep for the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a spot he would usually camp in on his way through the mountains. A little sheltered alcove near a waterfall where he was safe from the chilly mountain wind, with a hot spring that was often his first bath since Autumn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the snow and ice were slowing him down. Night was falling and he still had at least an hours climb to go. Looking down the winding path ahead he weighed up his options. Stay here for the night, but there was no good place to set up the tent and no water, or carry on and risk the climb in the dark. He had pretty good night vision, but the ice would be near invisible. The wind blew through him, making him tuck his tail and ears flat against his body. Tonight was not a night for sleeping under the stars. Decision made he let go of the tree and picked his way carefully down the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easy at first. This side of the mountain was more sheltered and the snow had cleared a little from the path. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, aided by the white snow and a bright moon overhead, and Snufkin felt a little knot in his chest easing. He was still quite high up, but he could almost imagine the smells and sounds of Moominvalley below. Moominmama's cooking, the happy gurgling of the river as Snufkin fished, Moomintroll calling his name as he raced to the bridge, eager to hear Snufkins’ new stories. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes Snufkin let himself imagine it. Moomintroll waking up to his new Spring tune, climbing out of his window and down the rope ladder, running to the bridge. There would be no interruption this time. Everyone else would still be asleep and Joxter wasn’t lurking in the valley this time. It would just be Snufkin and Moomintroll, welcoming in the Spring together. Snufkin smiled, the image filling his mind, warm and clear and wonderful. He felt the music bubbling up inside him and he dug into his pocket for his harmonica.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tune poured out of him like sunrise bursting over the mountain peaks and flooding the valley with light. It soared to the high notes, like Snufkins’ heart when he got his first glimpse of Moominhouse after a long Winter, it trilled and rolled like his stomach did when Moomin held his hand. Snufkins’ whole body sang, his feet skipping and dancing as the tune carried him away. This year would be the year. The year when he would meet Moomintrolls enthusiasm with his own, holding nothing back. With a great surge of energy he spun around, his music soaring into the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his boot slipped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tune ended with a strangled squeak as he fought to regain his footing. There was a moment of vertigo, a sick weightlessness, before gravity reasserted itself and Snufkin plunged into the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Branches whipped his face as he ran, skidded and sliding down the steep side of the hill. He grasped frantically at branches, but only succeeded in tearing the skin on his hands. His pack pulled him off centre and he staggered, pitching forwards as a root snagged his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Down he rolled. The stars blurred overhead as he tumbled over rocks and twigs. He hit a tree and bounced off, the momentum of the fall carrying him on down the steep slope. He cried out as he hit a rock and felt a searing pain in his side. He lost his grip on his harmonica. Twigs and stones scraped his skin where his smock had ridden up. He tried to dig his hands in, extending his claws for grip, but the earth provided no purchase, crumbling under him as he tumbled on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a brief moment of silence as the ground fell away, leaving only air and emptiness beneath him. His reflexes made him twist, turning to extend his arms and legs as he fell into the void. The ground rushed up to meet him. There was a sickening crack as he landed and white-hot pain flooded his mind for a second before the blackness rushed in behind it and everything went dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little cascades of earth and rocks followed in his wake, breaking the silence of the night with whispers of his fall before settling again. High in the treetops and owl hooted solemnly.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Joxter couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in the bed. Beside him Mymble snored softly, her red hair spilling onto the pillow around her in a chaos of curls. Joxter smiled, pulling a strand out of her mouth and brushing it away from her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What did I do to deserve her?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thought fondly, trailing his fingers along her cheek in admiration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mymble smiled in her sleep, an arm coming up to grip Joxter around the waist and pulling him close. He snuggled in, letting her smell wash over him and calm his nerves. He was almost asleep when he felt it again. A sense of wrongness that had kept him awake all night. He sighed. With great reluctance he lifted Mymbles arm, wriggling free of the warm bed and hissing when his feet touched the cold floor. Shuffling into his slippers he pulled his dressing gown on and padded out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house was quiet. This didn’t worry Joxter too much as it was so late it was nearly early and even Mymbles children got tired eventually. Quietly, Joxter poked his head around doors and into cupboards. He made his way through the house methodically, counting heads as he went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thirty-four, thirty-five...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter frowned, looking around for number thirty-six. His ears twitched, picking up on a rustle of clothing, and he grinned. Tucking the last two children in he turned slowly, an exaggerated frown on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only thirty-five children?” he mused aloud. “How very odd. Very odd indeed. I seem to be missing a little Mymble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a muffled giggle behind him but Joxter pretended not to hear it. Instead he walked to the living room and started lifting sofa cushions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps she fell in here,” he said as he felt down the back. Behind him he heard the slow footsteps of someone trying very hard to be silent. Putting his hands on his hips he fought the grin threatening to break free, sighing instead and shaking his head sadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is only very little after all. So small and defenceless. I’ll have to wake the house and mount a search for her at this rate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll show you defenceless,” a voice behind him said and Joxter leapt up on the sofa, narrowly missing the teeth that snapped shut where his leg had been. Grabbing a blanket he jumped back onto the floor on all fours, pinning the angry red blur under it. Gathering up the four corners he quickly scooped the blanket up, trapping his furious quarry inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why thank you, Little My,” he said with a chuckle as the blanket bag swung violently. “What a fine demonstration.” The bag hissed at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me out you overgrown flea-bag!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strong words, coming from a rabid, pint-sized gremlin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh just you wait. I’d take you anyday, Mymble to Mumrik.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need, your mother’s already got that one covered I assure you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a disgusted retching noise from inside the blanket and Joxter laughed. He held his catch at arms length and dropped it, hopping over the sofa before it landed to avoid any immediate backlash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a thrashing of limbs and the blanket fell away to reveal Little My, the most ferocious of Mymbles brood. She glared at Joxter, her hair wild about her face from her captivity and vengeance in her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stared each other down, neither blinking as they waited for the other to move, then suddenly she grinned, leaning back and holding her belly, laughing raucously. Joxter relaxed, coming out from behind the sofa and sitting down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked. Little My wiped her eyes, still giggling quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could ask you the same. I heard you sneaking about the house and came to investigate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter sighed, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t sleep. Something feels wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt the cushion dip as Little My hopped up beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Foreboding?” she asked, her voice tinged with seriousness. Joxter frowned in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not quite. But something close to it. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I just couldn’t shake the idea that one of you kids was in trouble, so I came to check. Everyone seems fine though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A finger jabbed him and he lifted his arm, letting Little My snuggle in beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course we are,” she said, poking and prodding at his side to get herself comfortable. “No-one would dare harm us, not with me protecting the house. And you, I suppose,” she added as an afterthought. “Mymblehouse is the safest place in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm,” Joxter hummed in agreement. The feeling was still there, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, a niggling worry that something was not right, but he tried to ignore it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside him Little My had stilled, awake but calm for the moment and he savoured the rare moment of quiet. Around them the house creaked and groaned quietly as it, too, enjoyed the brief respite. Outside the last breaths of Winter blustered and blew while thirty-five Mymbles snored softly, safe and warm in their beds. Then Little My spoke:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is one person you haven’t checked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxters’ eyes snapped open, dread settling in his stomach as the uneasiness found its’ focus with absolute certainty. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snufkin!</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You know how when the Moomins find the theatre and they don't know how the screen drops work? And they just drop them at random and the scene swaps really jarringly from one thing to another?<br/>Yeah... I loved that bit.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Snufkin survived falling off the mountainside. He's still deciding whether or not he's happy about this.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Consciousness crept back like a frightened animal, clinging to the shadows of Snufkins’ mind as though afraid of what it might encounter there. He groaned as the fog lifted and he became aware of the various aches and pains clamouring for his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin was on fire. His ribs hurt, every breath a stabbing pain. His ankle was throbbing. All of that, however, paled in comparison to the searing pain in his arm. He tried to sit up, but that sent lights flashing in front of his eyes and made his head swim, so he gave up and lay back down, his cheek pressing into the cold earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold seeped into his bones, numbing the pain, and Snufkin welcomed it. Pain and nausea muddled his thinking and suddenly he felt quite afraid. Tears trickled down his cheeks, leaving little icy trails in their wake, and he closed his eyes, slipping back into darkness gratefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He woke to the sound of his own chattering teeth. The moon had risen fully, bathing the forest in silvery light. Snufkin shivered violently, gritting his teeth as the movement sent white-hot sparks shooting through his body. The cold seemed to have numbed his arm a little, dulling the edge of the pain there at least. Levering himself up with his good hand he managed to sit up and get a look at the damage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wrist and forearm were swollen and bruised. The bruising looked black in the moonlight and Snufkin turned the arm carefully, cradling it in his lap. Taking a deep breath he braced himself and poked it gently with his good hand. Nausea washed over him again and he sat for a while, just breathing, waiting for it to subside. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Broken or sprained then, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought grimly. Pulling his leg in he repeated the process with his ankle. A few more minutes of steady breathing ensued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shivering was getting worse, the chattering in his teeth now uncontrollable and Snufkin felt a real pang of fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d dealt with injuries before, but he was in a bad way and he knew it. Worse than any tumble he’d taken before. Panic lurked at the edges of his mind as he realised that no-one knew he was here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomintroll was asleep and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be expecting Snufkin for weeks yet. Too-Tickey would be awake, but she wouldn’t be up in the mountains and Snufkin had no way of contacting her. Even the animals were still asleep, tucked away in burrows and nests, oblivious to his need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No-one would be coming to look for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was on his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a sobering thought, but it brought a comforting familiarity with it. No matter what, he could rely on himself. With that in mind he tried to calm himself and take stock of what needed to be done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing was to get warm. The shivering was a good sign at least. He knew he didn’t need to worry till the shivering stopped, but by then there wouldn’t be much he could do about it. Looking around he tried to get his bearings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was on the path down the mountain for sure, but a good bit further down than he had been. His mouth was dry and he swallowed as he realised just how lucky he had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had fallen a very long way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grabbing a broken branch he carefully got to his feet, leaning heavily on his good foot as he looked about him. His head swam, thoughts colliding in a great muddle of confusion as he tried to figure out his next move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pack had fallen next him, one of the straps having snapped during his fall, and Snufkin considered it sadly. It was a good bag, but there was no way he could carry it with one strap and hope to stay upright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, carefully, he leant over to root through it one-handed. Retrieving his knife, pipe, tobacco pouch and medicine kit he filled his pockets. The rest would have to wait until he could come back and get it. Pushing the bag into a dip he covered it with some branches and leaves to keep it hidden. It wasn’t the best place, but it would just have to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peering around him he tried to find his hat, but it was nowhere to be seen. Lost no doubt during the fall. With a last look of longing up the hill he turned away. That, too, would have to wait. Shaking his head to clear the fog he started walking. Moving was warming him up a little and the pain wouldn’t be far behind it. Taking it one slow step at a time he set off down the path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moonlight lit the forest, gleaming on the small drifts of snow and glittering on frozen spiderwebs. All was still and silent save for the creaking of the trees. If it wasn’t for the pain he would have found it all quite beautiful. As it was, he didn’t really have much energy left to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His right hand and right ankle were the damaged ones, forcing him to hold the stick awkwardly in his left hand and making walking difficult. After a little while he got the hang of the stick and developed a teetering sort of gait, leaning heavily on the stick and hopping with his left foot before swinging the stick out in front again. It was exhausting and each step made him suck in air between his teeth as his ribs complained at being jolted. His breath came in pants, little clouds of silvery mist that shone in the air and frosted on his eyelashes, casting the moonlight in glittering diamond arcs across his vision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each dip and incline had to be negotiated carefully. Appraised and planned out before attempted. Progress was excruciatingly slow, but he was making it. Up ahead he saw the wall of rocks and smiled for the first time. The moon was passing steadily overhead and the frost of the night was deepening, but he could see the steam cloud billowing in the air. With a sigh of relief Snufkin reached the rocks and hobbled around them to the hot spring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way he could make a fire, but this at least would keep him warm till morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down gingerly on a rock he considered his options. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep in the water, but there was a shallow spot on the far side of the pool where he should be able to sit quite safely for the night. All he had to do was get out of his clothes and into the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That proved easier said than done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting out of his smock was easy enough, the neckhole wide enough for him to wriggle free. His shirt had stuck to his back but he got it off in the end, reopening the grazes and leaving him bare-chested and freezing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling at the laces of his boots he managed to take the left one off, dropping it next to his clothes. The right was a bit harder and he had to grit his teeth as it pulled at his ankle, but he got it off eventually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grimaced as he peeled his socks off. The ankle was badly swollen. He had some bandage in his medicine bag, but it would be difficult to wrap it with only one hand, and he wouldn’t be able to keep it out of the water for the night. He’d just have to leave it for now, and wrap it come morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Undoing the cord of his trousers he stepped out of them and his small clothes, now thoroughly freezing indeed. Putting his clothes in a dry looking dip beside the rock he grabbed his stick and hobbled over to the waters’ edge, sitting and lowering himself in gingerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water felt wonderful on his legs, deliciously warm and supportive. The pool was shallow enough that he could stand, as long as he stuck to the sides. Finding the bottom with his stick he took a breath and hopped in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grazes stung. Snufkin blinked rapidly, his eyes watering from it, but eventually it faded and was replaced by the wonderful warmth of the water. Making his way carefully around the pool he found the rock he was looking for and sat down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water came up to his chin and he closed his eyes, letting his muscles relax. The ache in his ribs eased and his arm floated up beside him. It was almost comfortable. Snufkin sighed in relief. It would be a long night keeping himself awake, but at least he wouldn’t freeze to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would leave at dawn. Even with his slow pace he would reach Moominhouse before nightfall. Moomin would still be asleep, but he would be safe there. He was always safe with Moomin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a smile he leant back against the rock and let himself be lulled by the water. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dawn broke over the valley, sunlight creeping through the trees illuminating the woods and warming Snufkins’ face. He turned towards it like a plant, soaking up the rays. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night had been long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot water had leached the aches from his muscles, easing the throbbing pains to a dull wash, like the low ebbing tide, present and pulling but almost gentle. The grazes on his back were as clean as they were ever going to be, after soaking all night and even his arm was manageable as long as he didn’t move it too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exhaustion, however, had lurked in the shadows all the long hours of the night, waiting for it’s chance, tempting Snufkin into it’s waiting arms. A few times he had nodded off, only to wake with a splutter as his head dipped under the water, but the night was over now, taking with it the looming threat of hypothermia. Forcing himself to focus, Snufkin turned his bleary mind to the next problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a good day he could walk from here to Moominhouse in about five hours. In his current condition the best Snufkin could hope for was to get there before night fell again. The days were getting longer, but it was still technically Winter. He couldn’t afford to waste the daylight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant he had to get moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant he had to get dressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant he had to get out of the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at his clothes and shivered. There was a fine layer of frost on them. It had also occurred to him during his long vigil that he had nothing to dry himself off with. The only thing he could think of was his scarf. Memories of the coughs and colds he’d endured at the orphanage came back to him and made him cringe, but there was nothing for it. Hopefully the walk would keep him warm enough. Grabbing his stick he braced himself and stood up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold made his hair stand on end. Tail wrapped tightly around himself, he hobbled to his clothes. He dried off as quickly as he could, but it was awkward with only one hand and getting dressed even more so. Eventually he managed to tie his trousers and negotiate his bad arm back into his shirt and smock. A little warmer he sat down on the ground and contemplated his ankle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was still quite swollen. Poking it gently confirmed that it was very definitely sprained. Digging about in his medicine bag Snufkin pulled out a roll of bandage and got to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t as tight as it could be, but eventually he got it wrapped up to his satisfaction and pulled on his sock. Unlacing his boot as loose as it would go he managed to get his foot in and pulled the laces tight. The pressure was wonderful and he tested it carefully. He couldn’t put much weight on it, but it was a good deal better than it had been. Wrapping his wet scarf around the top of his stick he swung it forwards and set off at a slow, but steady pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Swing. Thud. Lean. Brace. Hop. Steady. Breath. Swing…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours had passed. The sun was long past it’s meagre zenith and making its way back to the horizon. Snufkin kept walking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had found a rhythm, marching to the beat of his stick hitting the ground, focussing on breathing and just putting one foot in front of the other. His body ached, but the pain was distant, exhaustion blanketing his mind in a thick fog, muting all sensation and thought. He didn’t dare sit down and rest for fear he wouldn’t be able to make himself move again, so he kept going, all the while keeping the image of Moominhouse in his mind. If he could just make it there, then he would be fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, the idea of seeking help like this would have grated at him. He would perhaps have stayed in the mountains until he was healed, or gone to Too-Tickey for help if he absolutely had to, but last Spring had changed things.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxters arrival and subsequent departure had brought Snufkin and Moomin closer together, the upheaval like a landslide, changing the topography of their relationship into something familiar and yet altogether different. Although they had enjoyed their summer, and spent plenty of time having adventures and playing with their friends, Moomin would often come down to Snufkins’ tent in the evening and sit with him, something he had rarely done before. And, to Snufkins’ own surprise, he hadn’t minded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin asked for nothing, often sitting in peaceful silence watching the fire or listening to Snufkin play his harmonica, but there had been times when Snufkin felt brave and had confided some of his troubles in his friend. His thoughts during his long walk. His fears about his family. Snufkin had dozed off more than once leaning against Moomin, secure in the knowledge that Moomin would still be there when he woke up. More than anyone Snufkin knew he could rely on Moomin to be there. Warm and soft and safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trees thinned and Snufkin blinked, the image in his mind realising before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominhouse stood silent and cold. The windows were dark. No smoke came from the chimney. Even so the sight filled Snufkin with joy and he broke his rhythm, swinging his stick and hopping down the hill as fast as he could manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was more snow here and his boots and trousers soaked it up, chilling his toes, but he didn’t care. Reaching the little bridge he paused for a moment, thinking of his harmonica, still lost somewhere up the mountains, and gave himself a moment to mourn the instrument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sure it would make its way back to him eventually as there wasn’t a single creature in those woods that didn’t know who it belonged to, but this would be the first time he had returned to the valley and not played his new tune. Well that just wouldn’t do at all. After all he had suffered to compose it, it aught to be played. Closing his eyes he picked up the melody of the tune. Then, humming it softly to himself, he crossed the bridge and made his way up the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door wasn’t locked. Snufkin let himself in, closing it gently behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was eerie, seeing Moominhouse all shrouded in dust cloths for the Winter, the dying light low on the papered walls, but it didn’t matter. The door clicked shut behind him and Snufkin knew he would be alright. Leaving his stick at the bottom of the stairs, Snufkin gripped the bannister and began his climb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tiring rapidly now and he wavered on the first landing. There was a spare room next to Moominmama and Papa’s room. The bed would be cold and musty, but he could fall into it easily enough and not risk waking Moomin. He considered it a moment, but turned away, heart aching for more comfort than a lonely bed, and began making his way laboriously up the second staircase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin was fast asleep in bed, his patchwork quilt pulled up so high that only his ears were visible. They twitched, flicking a little in his sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin sagged, the last of his energy draining from him now. He staggered forward and collapsed into the bed fully clothed. </span>
  <span>He was asleep before he hit the pillow.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As research for this, I did in fact wrap my own ankle in bandage with my left hand. It can be done.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Moomin wakes up to find a dirty, bedraggled Mumrik in his bed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I missed Moomin so much. I know you're all here for Snufkin and Joxter, but I hope you all appreciate how wonderful Moomee really is. Soft, squishy boy. Love him.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Moomin fought consciousness, grasping the tendrils of his dream as they slipped away, leaving him awake and pouting. It had been such a beautiful dream as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been walking in the South with Snufkin in endless fields of sunflowers. Blue skies and bright yellow all around them and the sun beaming down, showing the world in all its’ glorious colours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he rolled over in his bed. The blanket caught and he tugged at it sharply. The weight shifted, muttering, and Moomin froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s someone in my bed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chill in the air told him it wasn’t Spring yet. His friends would all still be asleep, or travelling. Moomin sniffed, catching a faint smell of tobacco, and scowled. It was one thing for the Joxter to let himself into the house, but Moomin’s bed was his own and really that was just a step too far. Pulling the cover down Moomin prepared to launch into a stern lecture on respecting ones hosts, but the words died on his lips as he realised who was actually asleep next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin looked an absolute fright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smock was muddy and torn, his trousers soaked through with snow and slush. He even still had his boots on! Reaching out Moomin shook his shoulder but Snufkin just snuffled, mashing his face into the pillow until Moomin worried he might suffocate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried desperately to make sense of the situation, the grogginess from hibernation quickly turning into a growing sense of panic. There was a cut on Snufkins’ forehead, a bruise peeking out under his fringe, and his face was pale, with cheeks a bright fever-red. Moomin reached out, brushing Snufkins’ fringe away from his eyes and hissed as he touched his friends’ face. He was ice-cold! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Memories of stories told by papa came to him. People frozen by the Lady of Winter and the Groke, turned to ice and perished out in the snow. Hypothermia, frostbite, you could catch your death outside in the Winter. Sitting up properly he shook Snufkin in earnest, calling his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snufkin! Snufkin, wake up! Oh please wake up,” he pleaded. His heart hammered in his chest as he waited for a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkins’ eyelids fluttered, opening a crack and regarding Moomin blearily. Moomin nearly collapsed with relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mumn, shh. ‘Msleepy,” Snufkin mumbled, reaching clumsily for the blanket edge. Moomin pushed it out of his reach quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snufkin, what happened to you? You’re all wet and muddy. Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin frowned. Giving up on the blanket he burrowed back into the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘mfine, fell, shhh, sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that Snufkin sank into the pillow, fast asleep and snoring quietly. Moomin stared at him, trying to work out what on earth he should do next. The wet from Snufkins trousers was seeping into the covers, turning the quilt dark as it soaked up the water, and Snufkin shivered. That was enough to snap Moomin from his daze. Leaping out of bed he pulled on his dressing-gown and turned to assess the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t look any better from here and Moomin started quivering all over with a fear and worry that threatened to consume him entirely. Closing his eyes hard he remembered Mama’s lessons on taking care of injuries.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Remember you must always stay calm. It doesn’t do a patient any good if their nurse looks frightened and no-one ever made a good decision when they were panicking.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gripping his shaking paws together Moomin tried very hard to be calm like Mama. It was a lot harder than it looked but he managed it eventually. When he had the shaking a little more under control he moved to the next step.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“First you should always make sure everybody is safe and warm. Every problem seems smaller when you’re comfortable.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at Snufkin he could see that his friend was neither warm, nor comfortable. He was shivering violently, the quilt now quite damp and his clothes sticking to him from the muck and wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin blushed furiously as he realised what he had to do but there was nothing for it. With a silent prayer of thanks that his parents were asleep, and Snufkin apparently unwakeable, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started on Snufkins’ boots, unlacing them quickly and pulling them off. The left one went easily enough but Snufkin whimpered when he pulled the right hand one. Moomin frowned. Easing the boot off carefully he rolled Snufkins’ sock down and quickly realised why. The bandage had slipped a little, revealing the swollen and bruised ankle underneath, and Moomin hissed in sympathy. Rolling both socks off he unwrapped the filthy bandage and dropped it in the pile. Snufkins mutterings came back to him. Something about falling. Looking at the damage to his clothes Moomin started to feel a sick sense of dread at what else he might find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He undid the buttons on the back of Snufkins smock, wincing when he snapped a few of them clean off. He placed them carefully on the bedside table for Mama to sew back on. Getting Snufkin out of the smock proved a little more difficult. His right arm was stiff and everytime Moomin tried to move it Snufkin would curl around it protectively. Eventually he managed to pull it free, tugging at the ruined garment and tossing it to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach sank. Snufkins’ shirt was ripped and bloodied, the skin underneath livid with a wild criss-crossing of scratches and grazing. Moomin apologized quietly as he pulled it carefully over Snufkin’s head, trying not to jostle his arm too much. He could see now that it was bruised as well and swollen around the wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving to the trousers Moomin took a moment to gather himself, fighting the heat in his face and reasoning that Snufkins’ comfort was more important than his embarrassment. Undoing the tie he pulled them off, flinching at the cold material and dropping the ruined garment onto the pile with the others. Snufkins’ bloomers seemed reasonably unscathed and Moomin heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t know if he would survive the mortification of having to take those off as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tugging the blankets carefully from underneath his friend he threw them over Snufkin, pulling the quilt up to his chin and tucking them in around him. The frown on Snufkins’ face eased and Moomin relaxed a little. He reached out, gently smoothing Snufkins’ fringe away from his face and was relieved to feel a little more warmth in his skin now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin turned into his hand, nuzzling Moomins’ paw with his pointy little nose and Moomin let go with great reluctance. Snufkin whined, turning to follow, and Moomin shushed him, waiting a beat to make sure Snufkin was truly asleep before he turned and ran from the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the steps two at a time, grabbing the bannister and hurling himself around the corner. Bursting through the door to his parents room he ran to Moominmamas bed and shook her shoulders insistently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mama,” he whispered. “Mama, wake up. I need you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama frowned, mumbling in her sleep, but Moomin didn’t stop. Eventually she opened her eyes, blinking at him in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moomin, darling, what ever is the matter?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. Moomin was wringing his hands frantically as he tried to explain the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what to do, Mama. I woke up and Snufkin was there in my bed. He said he fell and he’s all covered in bruises and scrapes and now he won’t wake up. Please, Mama, please come and help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that Moominmama was wide awake, throwing back her quilt and sliding quickly out of bed. “Of course, dear. I’m coming,” she said, pulling on her own dressing gown and hurrying out the door after her son. “Go and get the first aid kit and bring it up to me and we’ll see what needs to be done.” Moomin nodded with relief, racing off down the stairs to the kitchen while Moominmama climbed to the top floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Moomin returned he found Moominmama standing over Snufkin with a worried expression on her face. She smoothed it away as soon as she saw him, taking the first aid box with a quick thank you as she got to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin hovered nervously as she wrapped Snufkins’ ankle and bound his wrist. Snufkin complained a little when she treated his back, hissing in his sleep as she dabbed antiseptic onto the cuts and scrapes, but he never woke. When she was finished she pulled the blankets back over him, tucking them in firmly to stop him from moving too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think that’s all we can do for now,” she said, beckoning Moomin to her side. He went gladly, letting Moominmama pull him into a comforting hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will he be alright?” he asked tearfully. Now that he wasn’t doing anything the stress of it all was catching up to him and he was shaking like a leaf. Moominmama squeezed him tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snufkin is a lot tougher than he looks. I’m sure he’ll be just fine. Why don’t you stay here in case he wakes up and I’ll go and make us some tea. I don’t think either of us will be going back to sleep now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin shook his head. There was no way he could go back to sleep after this. Moominmama kissed him softly on the head and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Moomin stood by the bed, looking down at his friend in concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin shivered, snuggling down further into the covers and Moomin frowned. The room wasn’t exactly warm, and Snufkin didn’t have any pyjamas on or anything. As far as Moomin knew, Snufkin slept in his clothes, only removing his hat and scarf for bed. On nights when they had camped together Momin had often woken to find Snufkin pressed flat against him, unable to resist the lure of Moomins’ warm fur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding that his friends’ comfort would be worth the embarrassment if he woke up, Moomin lifted the blankets and slipped into the bed. Snufkin rolled over immediately, pushing his face into Moomins side and curling up against him. Moomin shivered when he felt two ice-cold feet tuck under his legs, but he didn’t move away. Putting an arm around Snufkins’s shoulder he tugged the blanket up over them and settled in. The bed warmed quickly. Beside him he felt a soft vibration and realised that Snufkin was purring in his sleep. Moomin beamed, closing his eyes and letting the noise soothe his frazzled nerves as he drifted off to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama put the tea-tray down gently and smiled at the two boys curled up in the bed. Both were snoring soundly. Tucking the blankets in firmly around them she sat down on a chair and took out her sewing box. Beside her a candle flickered warmly.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Back to the disaster duo!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“How do you know where he is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought your Forebodings were pretty vague.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They are. Call it a gut feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a gut feeling. It’s called HUNGRY. Who’s going to cook while you’re gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter sighed, packing the last few things into his bag and closing the strap tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mymble Jnr. will be here to help your mama. You could always learn to cook, you know? You’re old enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little My crossed her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t cook, and anyway, I can’t reach the hob. The kitchen is too big. How long will it take to get to the Lonely Mountains?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few days, if I manage to catch a train.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter swung his pack on and left the room, Little My trotting behind him doggedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never been on a train before. How are you going to get on a train? You don’t have any money for a ticket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll find a way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to stow away, aren’t you?” Little My demanded, running down the bannister to be level with the Joxter. “You remember what happened last time, don’t you? You won’t be any use to Snufkin if you get thrown back in prison, you know. And mum won’t be bailing you out this time. She said it was far too much hassle, all that paperwork.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little My’s lecture was drowned out by the noise of the household as they reached the hallway. Mymble appeared at the kitchen doorway, smiling and offering a bag of lunch for the road. Joxter took it gratefully, kissing her on the cheek and nuzzling briefly into her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, love. I’m sorry to leave in such a rush again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be silly darling,” Mymble replied, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his nose. “If you need to check on him, then go. I’m sure we will muddle along just fine, won’t we children?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chorus of shouts emanated from floor level and Mymble smiled fondly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind her Mymble Jnr. gave Joxter a thumbs up and he nodded in thanks. At least the house wouldn’t burn down while he was gone. Stealing a few more kisses from the Mymble, Joxter waved goodbye and let himself out. In the distance he could hear the sound of the train approaching. Turning left he set off at a jog into the fields.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crouching on the bank beside the rail, Joxter lay in wait. His tail twitched, but otherwise he was motionless. He watched the train approach unblinkingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knack to stowing away. It was all about timing. The train slowed as it came round the corner, whistle blowing and steam and smoke billowing about it. Joxter braced himself against the rushing air and noise, keeping his eyes peeled for an open carriage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There! Keeping low Joxter ran forwards, leaping just before he reached the rails and landing on all fours in the cargo carriage. His claws dug into the wooden floor as his momentum carried him perilously close to the opposite opening and he clung on, not retracting them until the train was around the bend. Breathing hard, he sat down, dropping his bag beside him. It squawked in protest. Joxter looked at it in exasperation, flicking the flap open to meet a pair of bright green eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little My! What are you doing in there?” Joxter asked, pulling the small Mymble out of the bag by her scruff. She flailed furiously, kicking and snapping her teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it look like! I’m coming with you, stupid. Now put me down!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter looked out at the rolling fields. The train wouldn’t stop for another hour or so, by which time they would be too far from home to set her loose. He couldn’t really throw her out at this speed either. Sighing, he put her down, making sure to keep his paws well out of reach of her teeth. Little My hissed a little, swiping at him, but she calmed quickly and climbed into the front pocket of Joxters bag instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here, Little My?” he asked, when she had settled herself comfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Helping you find Snufkin, of course. I want to meet him. And someone needs to keep an eye on you. If you get arrested I can break you out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter laughed, settling against the wall of the carriage and pulling his bag against his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, a little company would be nice. We have a long few days before we get to the Lonely Mountains. I don’t suppose you told your mama you were coming with me before you left?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I hardly think she’ll notice. And Mymble will be glad to be rid of me for a while, I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter said nothing. He knew she was right, but it was still a little sad that she could say it so easily. He loved Mymble dearly, more dearly than he’d loved anything before, but sometimes he wished she would be a little more careful with all the hearts she possessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting his arm around the bag he pulled it closer and started singing softly, a lilting melody that spoke of travels and the great wide ocean. Beside him Little My smiled and closed her eyes, letting herself be calmed. The fields whipped past in a blur of green and blue and Joxter let the sway of the train lull him into an uneasy doze.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you're all enjoying yourselves and ready for some light-hearted Joxter and Little My banter. Well, some banter. Probably not light-hearted.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Snufkin wakes up again and enjoys it for all of five seconds, before reality catches up to him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OK, so I know I didn't upload yesterday, but here's an extra long chapter to make up for it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Snufkin awoke warm and dry and somewhat unable to breath. Pulling his face back from the enveloping wall of white fur he started to piece together the events of the previous two days, the memories trickling back like thick syrup, opaque and slow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered falling. Slipping on the ice and feeling the world tilt as he tumbled into rushing pain and darkness. The aches and pains were making themselves known again now he was awake, clamouring at him like unwanted house guests demanding his attention. Screwing his eyes shut he tried to block them out, focussing instead on the jigsaw puzzle of his journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered falling, but he didn’t remember landing. After the fall the first thing he could remember clearly was sitting by the hotspring trying to get his boot off. He frowned, sifting through the impressions of the night, but they blurred together in an unhelpful mush of water and pain and endless walking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even reaching Moominhouse had felt like a dream, the house looming out of the mist like a great blue beacon of hope, but he supposed he must have reached it as there could be no mistaking the soft, white fur in front of him, or the musky, earthy smell that was distinctly Moomintroll. It wasn’t perhaps the return he had envisaged, but Snufkin allowed himself to enjoy the closeness; a rare and precious treat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made to move closer and froze as he felt soft sheets slide over his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His bare arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Attached to his exceedingly bare torso. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat rushed to his cheeks as he realised that quite a lot of him was, in fact, quite bare. Racking his brain, he tried to remember getting undressed, but came up blank. He and Moomin may have progressed to holding one another's hands, but that was a far cry from climbing into his bed unannounced and half-naked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkins face was burning as he desperately tried to remember what had happened, and to decide what he should do. Would Moomin wake if he slipped out of the bed? Had Moomin already woken up? Surely he would have woken Snufkin too if he had? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkins’ mind was in overdrive when a quiet noise drew his attention, the quiet sound of knitting needles clacking together and he realised in horror that Moominmama was sitting near the bedside and not, as Snufkin had presumed, hibernating. The burning in his face increased tenfold, which he wouldn’t have believed possible were it not for the fact that there was now so much blood rushing to his head it was making him dizzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to bear the mortification any longer he shot up in bed, intent on explaining, or at the very least excusing, himself to Moominmama. Several things happened all at once as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the pains, which had been laying if not dormant then at least quiescent, returned with a vengeance that made Snufkin cry out and then immediately regret it as his ribs exploded in agony. He curled in on himself, trying to cradle them, but that pulled the skin on his back, splitting the nearly healed grazes open again making him yowl, frantic and confused as sensations came at him from every quarter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside him Moomin awoke with a yelp of surprise, rolling backwards and falling onto the floorboards with a thump and a muffled curse, taking the blankets with him and leaving Snufkin very much exposed, but he hardly noticed, the sudden chill just one more thing clamouring for his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clicking had stopped. Moominmama had dropped her knitting in surprise at Snufkins’ sudden movement. It wasn’t until she laid her soft paw on Snufkins’ shoulder, however, that he even remembered she was there and the whole reason for moving in the first place came rushing back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing happened!” he managed to wheeze out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama frowned in concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snufkin, dear, calm down. Now, why don’t you just lie back down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mama, what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin looked sideways at Moomin, who was peering over the top of the mattress in sleepy confusion, his fur sticking up comically on one side, and his stomach did a funny flop of happiness. For a moment he was tempted to do just that. To lie back down and burrow into that thick white fur, bury his arms and face in it and just be safe and warm. Then he remembered where he was, and who was there, and his face heated like a kettle. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming from his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really must be going,” he said, shifting on the bed and trying to get his feet on the floor as fast as he could. “Don’t mind me. If I could just get down there-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama was having none of it. She swivelled him firmly back around onto the bed, holding a paw up to his forehead as she did so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like you’re running a fever. Moomin, fetch me some cool water and the licorice syrup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” argued Snufkin as he pushed weakly against Moominmama’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You most certainly are not,” Moominama replied firmly, picking his legs up from where he had managed to get them over the edge of the bed again and depositing them back onto the mattress. “You’ve had a nasty fall, you have quite a few injuries, and if that fever is anything to go on you may well have an infection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a fever,” Snufkin muttered. Moominmama looked unconvinced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be the judge of that, but fever or no you are going nowhere young man. Back into bed with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to sustain the fight any longer Snufkin found himself gently but firmly guided back into the bed, Moominmama pinning him down with one paw as she reached over him to grab the fallen blankets and pull them over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin clattered back into the room, spilling a little water as he balanced bowl, bottle, spoon and cloth awkwardly in his paws. “I got them Mama,” he called, hopping on one foot and closing the door with the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, darling,” said Moominmama, motioning to the bedside table but keeping a firm paw on Snufkin in case he made another dash for freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin, however, knew when he was beaten and closed his eyes, sinking into the pillows in the hopes they might swallow him whole. He heard Moomin trot across the room, depositing the items on the table before sitting on the edge of the bed, the springs squeaking as it dipped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin could feel the warmth from him, his bulk a solid and comforting presence even with Mama standing over him and he leaned into it instinctively, only just managing to pull himself back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now then,” she said, releasing him finally. “No more of this silliness. Let’s get this medicine into you and you can tell us what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin took the medicine silently, swallowing the bitter liquid without complaint. Moominmama insisted on checking his back again, cleaning it with a pink liquid that stung wickedly and made him gasp, but he made no move to escape. She also checked his ribs, holding her paw across them and making him breath in and out as deeply as he could. It hurt, the muscles protesting the movement and one of his ribs making a funny clicking noise when he breathed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for that one,” Moominmama told him sadly. Snufkin nodded. He’d cracked ribs before and he knew it would simply be a matter of time for them to heal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she rewrapped his ankle and wrist, Snufkin distracted himself with recounting everything he could remember since leaving the village on the far side of the mountains. It was a patchwork story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered the climb up the mountain, the icy wind and the weight of the pack on his back as he went. Moominmama frowned as he told them about his decision to keep walking in the dark, no doubt sensing how his injuries had come about, but after that it all went hazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could remember playing his harmonica, and he didn’t think he would ever forget slipping and the terrifying tumble down the hill, but he still couldn’t remember landing, or indeed waking up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What bothered him more was that he didn’t know exactly where he had landed. He had veered off his usual course due to the snow and the mountains were full of trails. His pack, harmonica and hat were all still out there somewhere, halfway up a mountain he wouldn’t be fit to climb for weeks. He stalled in his story, trailing off as he suddenly realized that he literally only had the clothes on his back, and right now he didn’t even have those.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t a material person. He carried so little with him anyway and he knew the Moomins would no doubt insist on giving him a new tent and blanket. His pot had been replaced before and he hadn’t had much in the way of food on him. Even his hat could be replaced, that one being the third such hat he had owned. But there were a few things that simply couldn’t be replaced and no matter how much he claimed to have no interest in </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the thought that they might be gone for good made him feel very cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His beautiful harmonica, fallen in the leaves somewhere high up in the mountains and no doubt getting wet and dirty. And his new fishing float, nestled safely in a curl of wool in the front pocket of his pack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first birthday present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His only birthday present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first, and perhaps only, gift from his father. It was still new. The only wear on its shining paintwork from him taking it out at night to admire it. How many times had he rolled over his pack on the way down? For all he knew that front pocket was full of tiny blue splinters. The thought was like a weight, driving the air from his lungs, crushing him. His head was swimming, pain and exhaustion and sadness pulling him in every direction at once until he thought he might just splinter into little pieces himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin laid a hand gently on his leg and he started, realizing he had fallen silent for too long.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think perhaps we should let Snufkin sleep a bit more,” Moominmama said softly. “Moomin dear, will you stay with him while I go and get started on the spring cleaning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Mama,” Moomin replied hastily, climbing off the end of the bed and taking her place on the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin felt the loss of his warmth keenly, leaving him cold and adrift in a sea of linen and blankets, and he curled his tail around himself, wishing he at least had his scarf. He said nothing though, holding back a childish whimper for the lost company. He thanked Moominmama automatically as she helped him back down into the pillows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, dear,” she laughed, kissing him on the forehead. “That’s what parents are for. Just you get some rest now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin watched her leave, chest aching from more than just the cracked ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin waited until the latch closed and they could hear Mama’s footsteps fading down the stairs before he turned back to Snufkin. He fiddled with the edge of the blanket, not quite meeting Snufkin's eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can get you some pyjamas if you’re cold?” he asked, glancing at his chest of drawers. “Or.. if you like… I could..I could keep you warm?” His cheeks were flushed pink as he twisted the corner of the blanket into a knot, but he managed to look up, meeting Snufkins’ eye hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin hesitated, knowing that Moominmama would no doubt come back up to check on them, but there was a cold in him that blankets wouldn’t cure. A sudden gaping emptiness that he simply didn’t feel big enough to fill. He nodded, just the tiniest fraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin beamed, hopping up out of the chair and slipping carefully under the covers. There was a little bit of negotiation as Snufkin scooted over, trying not to jostle his injuries and to leave enough space for Moomin to be comfortable, but eventually they got there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and Snufkin lay on his side, soaking in the radiant heat from him like a sponge. Moomin looked down, lifting his arm tentatively in invitation and Snufkin went willingly, pressing his face into Moomins’ side, ignoring his body’s protest at the movement. Moomins arm came down, enclosing him in warmth. Safe. Home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes he let Moomin hold him close and felt very small indeed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Excuse me ma’am, have you seen a young Mumrik recently? About this tall, green hat and coat.”</p><p>“Hey mister, have you seen a Mumrik boy around here? He’s about nineteen, short, ginger hair, green hat.”</p><p>Joxter and Little My collapsed on a bench, dejected and weary. This was the fourth town they had been through since hopping the train, and so far they hadn’t had a single lead on where Snufkin might be. Little My rummaged in Joxters’ pocket, fishing out a biscuit and munching it disconsolately.</p><p>“How can you even be sure he came this way?” she asked for the umpteenth time.</p><p>“He’d have to come through these towns if he wanted to get back to Moominvalley for the first day of Spring.”</p><p>“What makes you so sure he was going to Moominvalley. You said yourself he likes to travel like you. Why would he go back every Spring for three whole seasons? Sounds terribly dull if you ask me.”</p><p>“Same reason I keep coming back to Mymblehouse, I imagine.”</p><p>“What’s that then?” she demanded, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as she frowned up at him. Joxter laughed, pressing his thumb into the little wrinkles there and easing them apart again, twisting his hand out of the way of Little My’s snapping teeth.</p><p>“It’s hard to stay away from the people you love.”</p><p>Little My stilled, mouth closing with a sharp click. They sat looking at each other, Little My’s gaze flicking occasionally to the scars on Joxters cheek. She looked about to speak when they were interrupted.</p><p>“I hear you two are looking for a young Mumrik lad.”</p><p>Two heads snapped round to look at the newcomer. The old man leaned on his walking stick, peering at Joxter through his bushy eyebrows and nodding.</p><p>“Aye, I see the resemblance. Your young lad is it? Run away from home?”</p><p>Joxter faltered for a moment before answering. He didn’t want to have to explain why it was so important he find Snufkin, but thankfully the man had given him a good cover story.</p><p>“Yes. He was meant to be home a week ago and we’re very worried about him. Have you seen him?”</p><p>The old man nodded.</p><p>“I saw him. Near a week ago in Sliabhiochtar. He was headed away up the Lonely Mountains. I warned him it was too early, still snow on the peaks, told him he should wait a week or two, but he went up anyway. Guess I know why now.”</p><p>Joxter was on his feet already, slinging his bag onto his shoulder and picking Little My up to deposit her in his front pocket. The old man watched him thoughtfully. Joxter tipped his hat in thanks, making to start down the path, but the man caught him by the elbow, his grip firmer than expected. Joxter stopped, curious despite himself.</p><p>“Don’t be too hard on the lad,” the old man said, eyes straying to the thin white lines on Joxters cheek. “Kids, they lash out when they’re frightened, but they don’t mean no malice by it. And that wee lad must have been frightened to have run this far. I don’t know your business, and I don’t mean to pry, but at the end of the day family is all we have.”</p><p>“Don’t worry Mister, I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”</p><p>The man tipped his hat to Little My, peering out from her pocket perch.</p><p>“I don’t doubt it, little miss,” he said with a wink. “Well, you’d best be off then. It’s a two day walk to Sliabhiochtar and a tough climb up the mountain. Good luck finding your boy.”</p><p>Joxter was moving before he’d even finished, waving his hat to the man as he set off down the road at a brisk walk. Little My scrambled up out of his pocket and perched herself on his shoulder, holding his ear to steady herself and enjoying the view. Eventually she spoke, voice tinged with worry.</p><p>“The Lonely Mountains aren’t really dangerous, are they?”</p><p>“No more dangerous than any other mountain, I would have said. And Snufkin has climbed them enough times. He should know the path like the back of his hand.”</p><p>“But the man saw him nearly a week ago, and that was about when you had your foreboding wasn’t it?”</p><p>“Maybe I was wrong.”</p><p>“Have you ever been wrong before?”</p><p>There was a beat of silence, Little My waiting for the answer with an almost hopeful expectation.  The worry that Joxter had been holding back for the last week once again reared its’ ugly head and he swallowed, willing his voice to stay level as he answered.</p><p>“Never.”</p><p>They walked in silence. Little My gave up her seat on his shoulder and slipped back into his pocket, vanishing into its depths with an uncharacteristic solemness that did nothing to ease his mind. The miles fell away beneath his feet and all the while his gaze was fixed on the mountain peak in the distance.</p><hr/><p>Dawn broke bright and golden over the foothills of the mountains. Joxter took a moment to watch it unfold, golden light sliding down the hillside and illuminating the winding white line that was the path over the peak. </p><p>A grumbling from his pocket alerted him to his passenger waking up and he fished about for some food. Little My emerged, rumpled and bleary, and took the proffered cheese gratefully, chewing slowly as she took in her new surroundings.</p><p>“Did you sleep well?”</p><p>“I think so. I dreamt I was on a boat. Where are we?”</p><p>“Just coming up on the village now.”</p><p>Littly My peered up at him, taking in the darkening circles under Joxters’ eyes.</p><p>“You walked through the night.”</p><p>It was a statement, rather than a question, and Little My sighed dramatically at his slight nod.</p><p>“You’ll be no use to anyone if you wear yourself out like this, you know? We still have a whole mountain to climb. You sure you’re up for it, old man?”</p><p>“Well maybe I’d be less tired if a certain little princess could find the strength to walk herself, rather than being carried. I don’t know, are your feet up to a little walking now, your highness?”</p><p>Little My growled at him but she scrambled out of his pocket and slid down his coat, landing on the ground and scampering after him while trying to re-tie her hair. </p><p>“We’ll see who’s carrying who by this evening, you overfed housecat. Mother’s spoiled you.”</p><p>Joxter bristled, his tail coming round and flicking Little My in the back of the head. She ducked, cackling loudly as she darted off down the path. Joxter watched her go. </p><p>Usually he would answer the challenge, defend his honour as a wild and untamed Mumrik, but he had to admit she had a point.</p><p>He was exhausted.</p><p>Yes he travelled. Extensively even. But he never had a destination in mind, nor did he travel with such pressing deadlines. He meandered, letting his nose and ears guide him to food and music and merriment and never denying himself a nap or a rest if he felt like it. The troubles of the world never touched him and if they did he simply moved on until their grasp fell away, replaced by the gentle caress of new winds and new places. </p><p>But one had caught him now. It had it’s fingers twisted round his heart like ivy, squeezing and pulling and bowing and bending him to it’s will. He couldn’t have sat down and rested last night no matter how tired he was. Parenthood had its grip on him and he wondered bleakly if he would ever feel relaxed again or if this worry had taken up permanent residence in his mind, nibbling away at him like a mouse nibbles a cushion until it comes apart at the seams.</p><p>He had always admired the Mymbles ability to remain calm in the face of thirty-six screeching, screaming children. To pick them up and kiss their cuts and bruises without batting an eyelid. He had thought he understood. It had taken a few years, quite a few if he was being honest, but these days he felt like he got on well with the children. Thought he had this parenting lark down pat. </p><p>How wrong he had been. He touched his cheek, tracing the jagged ridges almost reverently. The cost of his own hubris. A reminder of just how much he stood to lose, and how easily it could be done. Dropping his paw he shook his head and fixed his eye on the path ahead. </p><p>There was no distance he wouldn’t walk, no mountain he wouldn’t climb, to keep what he had found.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Poor Joxter. I think he needs to set up some kind of commuter route to Moominvalley. He's gonna be doing this trip a lot by the looks of things.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Joxter slipped, his foot skidding out from under him. He caught himself, just, on the rock wall and stopped for a moment to catch his breath and to give his heart time to stop hammering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lack of sleep was catching up on him now. He squinted as two Little My’s swam in front of him, arms folded disapprovingly, and shuddered at the thought. The twin Mymbles spoke:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit down before you fall down you great nit. You’ll have an accident at this rate, and wouldn’t that just be embarrassing. All this way to find Snufkin and then you fall down the stupid mountain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joxter scowled, but he sat, knees nearly buckling under him in relief. Little My rolled her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How you managed on your own all these years, I’ll never know. Stay there. I’ll get a fire going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joxter watched as she bustled around, setting up rocks for a campfire and trotting off into the darkness in search of something to burn. She came back with armfulls of sticks and deposited them in neat little piles, organised by size and dryness, and Joxter smiled. He’d taught her to do that. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>One Spring, he and Mymble had taken all the children out camping high in the hills about the house. Mymble had started setting up the tent while Joxter saw to the cooking fire. The children had been running wild, excited to be out of the house after the long Winter, but Joxter had turned to find a much younger Little My standing curiously at his heels.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What are you doing?” she asked, kicking experimentally at one of the rocks he had gathered.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Building the firepit. Have to be careful the fire doesn’t spread to the trees now, don’t we?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She looked around her, mulling the thought over, clearly wondering if a forest fire might not make for a more entertaining evening. Joxter distracted her quickly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll teach you, if you like? You can be in charge of keeping the fire going. It’s a very important job, being the fire master.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She turned back to him, nodding and puffing her chest out proudly. Following him around as he collected sticks and branches, she listened intently as he told her which trees would burn green and how to check if a branch was properly dry. She watched him build up the fire with small twigs and grass, lighting it with a match and cradling the first flickering flame like you might hold a baby bird, fresh from the shell. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Once the fire was crackling away merrily, he turned to her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now it’s your responsibility to keep it going so we can eat and stay warm. You up for the task?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She nodded furiously, taking her place by the fire like a sentry, and Joxter chuckled, ruffling her hair as he stood to help Mymble with the cooking. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fire had burned merrily all night. Little My watching over it proudly, keeping the flames fed and flickering, and scolding her siblings when they brought her the wrong types of wood or tried to take the burning sticks as toys. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wood crackled and Joxter shook his head, focussing on Little My crouched down and blowing patiently into the little nest of flames. She added the twigs one by one, building up the fire until it was burning happily, before sitting back on her heels and looking up at Joxter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you suppose anyone ever taught Snufkin how to light a fire, or did he figure it out on his own?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joxter shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him when you meet him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little My hummed, looking back into the flames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose he probably had to figure a lot of things out himself,” she mused quietly. Joxter nodded, sliding down off his rock to join her by the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d say he probably did. But he seems to have managed alright. Mumriks are a resourceful lot. I imagine Moominmama and Moominpapa probably taught him a thing or two as well. They’re parents themselves, after all. It’s what parents do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t that bother you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joxter looked down at her quizzically and Little My elaborated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That they got to teach him things. What if he thinks they’re his parents? What if he loves them like they are? Aren’t you jealous?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sadness welled up in Joxters chest, nostalgia and longing and regret mixed into a heady cocktail that threatened to overwhelm him if he looked at it too hard. It rose in his throat, constricting and tight, and he swallowed, pushing it back down and taking a deep breath. Little My was watching him intently, that little crease furrowing her brow again, and he tried to smile for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not jealous. I’d do anything to change what happened. To have been there to teach him all the things he needed to know. But seeing as I wasn’t, I’m just glad he found good people to look after him. He could do an awful lot worse for friends than the Moomins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So why are you doing this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it was Joxters turn to frown. Little My shrugged her shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just sayin’. If these Moomins are all that great, and that’s clearly where he’s headed, why not let them deal with it. Save yourself the bother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snufkin isn’t a bother. I don’t ever want him to think that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what if he doesn’t want your help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then at least I’ll have offered. He spent all those years thinking his parents didn’t care about him. That we abandoned him on purpose. I can’t ever make that right. It is what it is. But I would travel the world over to let him know that it isn’t true. Now I know about him, there isn’t a mountain in the world I wouldn’t climb for him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little My was quiet, turning back to the flames and adding a few more sticks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Must be nice,” she said eventually. “Being loved like that. He’s lucky.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’d say he’s earned a little bit of luck. He didn’t start with the best hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. At least he got to make his own choices, be his own person. Got to pick his own parents. Sounds pretty lucky to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joxter looked at her, but she kept her gaze firmly on the fire. When it didn’t seem that she was going to continue, he sighed, pushing himself wearily to his feet. Little My’s head snapped round to look at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better get the tent set up if we’re staying. It’s cold up here at night. There’s some meat left in the pack. Fancy trying your hand at cooking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little My shook her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll burn it. You know I can’t cook.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joxter smiled, retrieving the tent and dropping the pack beside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I guess it’s time I taught you.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The sun was well set by the time they turned in for the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The meal had been scant enough, and burnt, but Joxter had eaten it anyway, ruffling Little My’s hair to break her from her pout. Some things, it seemed, were just genetic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now he curled up on the bedroll, his coat thrown over him as a blanket. Lifting his arm he created a hollow and Little My climbed into it, curling up against his chest like a little red apple. Joxter lowered his arm, enclosing them both in the warm woolen coat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The worry was waiting for him. He could sense it, lurking just beyond the tent, held at bay for now by the last flickering embers of the fire. Closing his eyes Joxter tried to put it from his mind. They would be in Moominvalley by tomorrow afternoon and until then it was out of his hands. Curling tight around the already snoring Mymble he let exhaustion claim him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for all the lovely comments. They give me life. I'm also very glad to hear I'm not alone in realising just how good a combo these two are. I love them so much. Hope you're all ready for the homestretch. It's going to be a doozy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Snufkin remembers how bad he is at shopping and Joxter finds something in the woods</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Snufkin watched the sunbeams slide across the ceiling. The suncatcher in the window cast tiny dancing rainbows around the room and he watched them idly, tracking their familiar routes across the ceiling as the sun moved across the sky. He smiled, closing his eyes and remembering the little town where he’d found the suncatcher a couple of years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was a stall set up by the pier and he had spotted it as he went to catch his dinner. It was an odd assortment of items, different knickknacks and trinkets. More Snorkmaidens kind of shop than his, but something had caught his eye, drawing him over to the bench. The lady who ran the stall had eyed him shrewdly before lifting the little crystal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A gift for someone special? You don’t look like the type to shop for yourself.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snufkin nodded, blushing, and took the string, watching as the sun caught the crystal, casting rainbows across the stall. He smiled. Moomin would love it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s beautiful, but I’m afraid I have no money.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I figured as much. Tell you what, you catch me some supper and I’ll let you have it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snufkin nodded, placing the crystal carefully back on the bench before heading to the pier. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The fishing was poor and by evening he had only caught enough for one, but he walked back to the stallholder as she was packing up and proffered his bucket. The woman frowned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Slim pickings today then?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snufkin shrugged. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t mind. I’m sure I can forage something else. Will this do for the suncatcher?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The woman smiled knowingly. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out the glittering drop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Take it. They must be something special to be worth going hungry for.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snufkin had tried to refuse, but the woman insisted, dropping the crystal into his front pocket with a grin. Eventually he had conceded defeat, thanking her kindly before heading back to his camp to cook his small meal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Moomin had been delighted, lying in the sun and casting rainbows across his white fur for hours.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Snufkin dear. How are you feeling today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin sat up, wincing a little at the pain in his ribs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much better thank you, Moominmama. The tea is helping a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama nodded, coming round to settle the pillows behind him and feeling his forehead with her hand. Snufkin sat quietly, letting her check his bandages and his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After waking up again next to Moomin, Snufkin had attempted to slip out of bed. Moomin had protested, but Snufkin was determined to get back on his feet as quickly as possible. He’d already spent over a day in bed and the thought of sleeping any longer made him itch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin had fretted, and fussed, and then committed the ultimate act of betrayal and fetched Moominmama.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin had been scooped unceremoniously back into the bed with a warning that if he didn’t stay there until she was satisfied with his recovery he would face her extreme displeasure. Head bowed in shame Snufkin pulled the blanket back up over himself and promised to stay put. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And here he was, a week later and still in bed. His bandages tightened Moominmama nodded, removing the pillow and tucking the blankets back around him as though to pin him down. Snufkin smiled, thanking her again and keeping his face peaceful until he heard the latch click behind her, before heaving a great sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This week had been torture. Snufkin always prided himself on being quite capable of looking after himself, thank you very much. And yet here he was, bedbound and, if he was being totally honest with himself, probably not actually up for the task of looking after himself right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed the longer he stayed in bed, the more tired he became. He had slept more in the last week than he could fathom and he was still weary when he woke. His injuries were healing well enough, the sharp pains becoming more muted aches, but his body felt like jelly. After voicing his concerns to Moominmama she had nodded, sitting by the bed and taking his hand gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shock can creep up on you like that,” she had said softly, holding his gaze. “And you’ve had quite a few this last year. The fall was probably just the last straw. It’s ok to need rest every once in a while.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Snufkin had scowled, looking down at his hands, tiny in comparison to Moominmama paws. He knew she was probably right. She usually was. But it rankled terribly. He felt like his own body had betrayed him. He felt weak. It was embarrassing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully most of the valley was still fast asleep, but they would be waking up soon and even if he could hide his injuries, Snufkin couldn’t very well hide the fact that he had lost everything he owned. Moominmama could be trusted to keep his confidence, but Snufkin knew that Moomin would never be able to hide his fretting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had seen it in the trolls eyes when they brought him his clothes back. Moominmama had done her best, and the trousers were alright, but Snufkins’ shirt had been a dead loss and he had had to argue for his smock. Yes it was patched and darned, but it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> and at the moment there weren’t an awful lot of things that were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin had ventured up the mountain a few days ago in search of Snufkins’ pack, but Snufkins’ instructions were hazy and he had returned apologetic and empty-handed. Snufkin had tried to make light of it, but Moomin had seen through him, sharing his sadness at the loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sinking into the pillows Snufkin resigned himself to a Springtime of being fussed over. At least the Joxter wasn’t due to arrive until mid-Summer. Time enough to recover and prepare. The loss of the float still weighed heavily, sitting in Snufkins’ chest like a stone. Perhaps he could make a new one and Joxter need never know he had lost it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Downstairs a door banged and Snufkins’ ears twitched. He could hear shouting. Frowning he pushed himself up in the bed, straining to catch the sounds floating up the stairs. He could hear Moominmama, soothing and hushing. Moomins gentle voice with an unusually firm cast to it. A shrill girls voice joined in, setting his teeth on edge. But it was the man's voice that filled him with cold dread, filling his chest until there was no room for his lungs and his breaths came in shallow gasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the Joxter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he sounded furious.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The morning sun lit the tarp, warming the chill air and tugging Joxter from his fitful dreams. He raised his head blearily, blinking the sleep from his eyes and nudging Little My. She grumbled, curling up tighter and digging her head into the crook of her arm. Joxter sympathised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs ached. His back ached. His whole body begged him to just lie back down and soak himself in the morning sunshine, but his mind was waking up, tugging him forwards, and he was powerless to stop it. Rolling over he backed out of the tent and stretched, casting a look at the mountain path ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the light of day he could see what a good thing it was that they hadn’t continued. The path was shaded, glittering in places with patches of ice the sun had yet to reach. Shivering, he reached under the tarp and pulled on his coat, dislodging the sleeping Mymble inside. She snapped at him halfheartedly before coming to help him roll up the tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They set off at a steady pace, reaching the peak within the hour and taking a moment to look at the view. Little My folded her arms, frowning deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it a little odd that we haven’t found any sign of him yet?” she asked. “According to that man he was here three days ago, but we haven’t seen so much as a campfire or a tent peg. Maybe he didn’t come up the mountain after all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know he came this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little My grumbled, but Joxter ignored her, setting off down the path into the woods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, she had hit upon his own doubts. They should have seen some sign of Snufkin by now. Even with the week that had passed, he had expected to see the remains of a campfire somewhere along the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forebodings were tricky things. He had never truly understood how they worked, or how much of a warning he was being given. There was still a chance that it had nothing to do with Snufkin at all, though his gut told him that wasn’t true. All he could do was find his son, and hope that it wasn’t anything serious. Perhaps Snufkin had simply caught a cold, travelling through the mountains in the snow, and Joxter would find him sitting on the Moomins porch, sipping tea and smiling. The image made him smile, the constant pressure on his heart lessening a little at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I think I found something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter shook his head, eyes snapping to Little My as she ran back up the path. She had something in her hand. It shone in the sunlight, silver and glittering. Joxters heart stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a harmonica.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you find that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice sounded distant. Like he was listening to himself speak through an acre of cotton wool. Little My turned, pointing a little down the track, and Joxter followed her finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw the turn in the path, where it veered off sharply to the right, turning away from the steep drop into the trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw the broken branch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet were moving of their own accord as he ran down the path, skidding to a halt at the end, hand braced against a tree trunk as he leaned over the edge. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, beating against his ribs like a fist, punching the air from his lungs in gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ground had settled, but Joxter could see the fallpath clearly. The broken branches and skree. Scrambling down the hill he followed it blindly, lurching from tree to tree as his feet skittered on the loose soil. Little My followed in his wake, calling to him, but he ignored her, eyes scanning the ground all around him for something. Anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lump of green caught his eye and he reached down to pick it up.It was Snufkins hat, sodden and muddy from the ground, and he clutched it to his chest, his claws nearly shredding the wet wool where he gripped it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fairly threw himself down the rest of the hill, hat in hand and heart in throat. He only just caught himself from tumbling off the ledge at the end, gripping a root and lowering himself down the sharp drop. He almost wished he had fallen. Perhaps from the top of the mountain. Anything would be better than the sight that met him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin's pack was in pieces, shredded and spread over the path like so much confetti. Joxter fell to his knees, reaching out with a trembling hand to lift the remnants of Snufkins’ journal, wet pages falling away from the spine like Autumn leaves. The marks were unmistakable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teeth marks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claw marks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wolves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxters’ head was swimming, the carnage of the scene blurring before his eyes. A sound bubbled up inside him, clawing its way up his throat, pressing between his teeth, forcing itself out into the world. A high pitched keening. Pressing the journal and hat to him Joxter tipped his head back and with every breath of air in his lungs he screamed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I got told off for writing this. <br/>......I'm not sorry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which more characters get injured</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am.... so sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nineteen years. Snufkin had been nineteen years old. And Joxter had seen him for a grand total of three days. The pain cut through him, tearing him to ribbons, leaving his heart and soul flapping in the winds of sorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never held his son. Never pulled him close and buried his face in those red curls, so like his mothers. He’d never taught him a skill, or learned about his life, or shared a meal with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he never would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would never hear Snufkin play his harmonica, or laugh at one of his stories. He didn’t have a lifetime of memories to remember him by, he didn’t even have a photo. All he had were the ruined remains of a life and the scars on his face to remind him of how he had failed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wool of Snufkins’ hat was wet and scratchy and smelled like damp and leaf mould and rainwater but he pressed his face into it anyway, searching for some vestige of a scent long since flown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only he could fly away too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gradually he became aware of a noise, and a persistent tugging at his coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Joxter.</span>
  <span> Joxter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tiny hand slapped him hard across the face, pulling him back into reality, and he growled, shocking Little My a step backwards as he bared his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was shaking, skin pale and eyes wide, but she pulled her composure around herself like armour, fists clenched tightly as she rested them on her hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pull yourself together,” she snapped, glowering up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter turned away, curling tighter around Snufkins’ hat, but she was having none of it. Marching up to him she planted herself firmly under his nose, poking it sharply with a finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you would just calm down and stop blubbering for half a second you might have noticed something pretty important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter frowned, following her hand as she gestured at the things scattered around them..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hiccuped, a tiny bubble of hope forming somewhere in the miasma of despair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right. He looked at the items in turn. They were shredded, yes, but there wasn’t any blood in sight. No drag marks, no signs of a fight. The bubble grew and Joxter pulled himself precariously to his feet. Looking around him he figured out where they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The descent had taken a good hour off the walk, cutting down a full section of the mountain. The fall at the end was high, high enough to do significant damage, but survivable for sure. As long as he hadn’t broken a leg on the fall, or cracked his skull, then there was no reason Snufkin wouldn’t have managed to get himself moving again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter felt ill at the thought of Snufkin injured, dragging himself through the woods and down the mountain with who-knew-what injuries, but he would take that over the wolves any day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question now was which way to go? It had been over a week ago. Had Snufkin been hurt badly? Had he made it to Moominhouse or had he collapsed somewhere in the woods, unable to make it any further? He clearly hadn’t been in any state to collect his things and Joxter was certain that the little troll would have come to get them if he was asked, which reminded Joxter that it was still technically Winter and the Moomins would still be hibernating. No help would be forthcoming in these woods. The bubble in his chest weakened, collapsing in on itself like a flat balloon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little My called him again, pulling his attention up the path. “I think I found some tracks,” she said, squatting down close to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter hurried over to her. There were indeed some tracks, a boot and a … a stick! A boot and a stick, leading away down the mountain towards the valley. Without a second thought Joxter began to run.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Moomin was on his way to the kitchen to fetch Snufkin some lunch when he heard frantic steps thundering across the porch, before the front door burst open and he yelped in surprise as the Joxter nearly barrelled into him, catching himself just in time on the frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter looked absolutely frightful. A week of travelling had left him more dirty and dishevelled than usual, his hair was tangled and wind-swept, with bits of leaf and twig caught in its curls, and the sweat was pouring down him, but all of that paled in comparison to the expression on his face. He looked like a wild animal, lips drawn back and pupils blown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin remembered suddenly his very meeting with the Joxter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been a sense of danger about him, that cold Winter morning when Moomin had startled him so badly. Moomin had forgotten since, with the Joxters’ kind manner and easy smile, but he was suddenly very aware that his first impression had not been unfounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Joxter fixed on Moomin and Moomin recoiled, his fur standing on end as the Joxter advanced on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he here?” he demanded. Moomin nodded dumbly, vaguely aware of Moominmama hurrying out of the kitchen to investigate the noise. Joxter ignored her, rushing Moomin and gripping his shoulder painfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where? Where is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin couldn’t speak, lost in the terrified pools of black that were Joxters eyes. Joxter hissed in frustration, shaking the troll hard enough to make his teeth click together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me, you idiot troll. Where is Snufkin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s quite enough of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin turned his head gratefully as Moominmama laid a hand on Joxters arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter was less grateful. Rounding on Moominmama he gripped her arm instead, eyes pleading and chest heaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, tell me where he is. Is he ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is fine, Joxter. He had a little tumble on his way home this year, but he is fine, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to see him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should sit down for a few minutes first, let yourself calm down a little. You’ll frighten the poor boy, the state you’re in. Why don’t you have a nice cup of tea with me first, and then you can go up to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From his vantage point on the stairs, Moomin saw the mistake as it happened. He saw Moominmama’s eyebrows shoot up as she realised what she had done, saw Joxters’ eyes narrow, saw the tension before the action, and made the firm decision that Mama was right and on no account was Joxter to burst in on Snufkins’ rest and recuperation while he was this wild and frightening.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Planting his feet firmly on the wooden step he braced himself and as the Joxter sprang, leaping up the stairs in the direction he now knew Snufkin to be in, Moomin swung his arm out with all his might.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It connected. Hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With nothing to grip, Joxter rebounded off Moomins arm like a rubber ball, flying backwards and landing with poor grace in a heap at the foot of the stairs. Four sets of eyebrows rose high in shock, even Moomin surprised at the force of his own action. But he stood firm. Planting his feet wide across the step he put his hands on his hips, giving every impression of an extremely solid, white wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, mister Joxter sir, but Mama is right. Snufkin needs his rest and we can’t let you see him like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the floor Joxter scowled, righting himself and staring Moomin down, looking for an opening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out of my way, little troll,” he hissed, lips pulled back in a snarl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin felt a shiver of fear ripple down his spine as his eyes fixed on Joxters sharp teeth. How had he never noticed how sharp they were? A small child in red was tugging frantically on Joxters coat hem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joxter, would you calm down,” the girl demanded, her eyebrows drawn into a deep frown. “You heard what they said. Snufkin is fine. So stop scaring everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter tugged his coat from her grip, growling, and Moomin saw the flash of hurt on the girl's face before it was replaced with anger. He wondered briefly who she was before a movement made him realise he’d taken his eyes off the Joxter for too long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man leapt again, this time with force, clearly intending on going through Moomin if the troll wouldn’t make way for him. There wasn’t time to brace himself so Moomin settled for throwing his arms around the Joxters’ waist, holding on grimly as they both fell onto the stairs in a tangle of yowling limbs, claws and paws. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter tried to wrestle himself free, thrashing in Moomins grip like a fresh caught fish, writhing and desperate, before suddenly going limp and boneless, eyes fixed on the landing above. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin twisted his head, looking up the stairs to see an upside down Snufkin gripping the landing bannister, staring down at them all in a mixture of fear, anger and confusion. He swayed slightly, his fingers turning white where they gripped the wood, and Moomin became aware of the stinging sensation on his right shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking slowly, in a voice so tightly contained Moomin thought he might be in danger of pulling something, Snufkin spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the name of the Boobles great hairy knees is going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snufkin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxters’ voice was quiet, an almost disbelieving whisper, but it rang like a bell in the sudden silence of the hallway. Snufkin met his father's eyes and gripped the bannister tighter at the desperation he saw there. Unable to hold his gaze he looked away, eyes flicking about the hallway as he tried to make sense of the scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama was looking on in shock, clearly as confused as himself. Beside her stood a small girl in a red smock who was staring up at Snufkin as though weighing him up. He shifted uncomfortably. Unable to make any more sense of this new house guest he looked back at the mess on the stairs and everything else was driven from his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moomin! You’re bleeding!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a clockwork tightly wound and suddenly released movement rushed back into the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin nearly ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste. Joxter, released from Moomins hold, scrambled to his feet and up the stairs as Snufkin brushed past him without a second glance, all his attention fixed on Moomin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin was fast, but Moominmama was faster. Helping Moomin to his feet she pulled him close, giving him a quick squeeze, before turning him to inspect the damage. Snufkin stood a step above them, hand resting between Moomins shoulder blades in reassurance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter came up behind him. He reached out tentatively, tugging gently at Snufkins’ shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snufkin?” he said, reaching out to tug tentatively at Snufkins’ shirt. “Son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get away from me,” Snufkin hissed, smacking the paw away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter recoiled as though burned. He stood and watched helplessly as Snufkin and Moominmama steered Moomin towards the kitchen, before sinking down onto the stairs, shaking like a leaf in high wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The relief of seeing Snufkin, live and whole, was marred horribly by the guilt now swirling in his belly. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the image of red blood staining white fur, the anger in Snufkins’ voice, and hugged himself tighter, exhaustion and worry and adrenalin bearing down on him like an avalanche. He choked out a breath, lungs straining against the crushing weight of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d ruined everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the front door a pair of green eyes watched as his shoulder began to shake.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Did I mention I was sorry?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prelude (n.)<br/>1 : an introductory performance, action, or event preceding and preparing for the principal or a more important matter</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>deep breath...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Moomin winced as Mama pressed the cloth to his shoulder, the antiseptic in the water stinging fiercely, bringing a tear to his eye. Snufkin sat beside him, back ram-rod straight, jaw clenched, and the tip of his tail twitching in agitation. With his free paw Moomin reached out, taking Snufkin's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice came from underneath the table, sharp and angry. Moomin leaned past Snufkin to see the small, red-haired girl. She didn’t look back though. Instead she was staring daggers at Snufkin who regarded her with wary confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Little My. And you’re Snufkin. And right now, you are being horribly cruel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will not!” the girl said, stomping her tiny foot in fury. “Do you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>any idea</span>
  </em>
  <span> how worried we have been about you? How far we travelled? What we thought had happened? Joxter nearly killed himself getting here just to make sure you were ok. So you’d better go out there and apologize right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologize?” Snufkin squawked indignantly. “For what? He hurt Moomin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wouldn’t let him see you. He was frantic! He thought you were dead!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkins’ mouth snapped shut, the angry retort dying on his lips as he looked at Little My in bewilderment. Eventually he found his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He thought I was…what?” he asked weakly. “Why? How? What is he even doing here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little My groaned, throwing her arms up in frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He had a Foreboding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A what?” Snufkin asked in confusion, looking up from Little My to Moominmama who was nodding with a sad look on her face. Little My shrugged her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like...seeing the future, but not really, I don’t know either, but he thought it had something to do with you. So we came all this way to find you, to make sure you were ok. We’ve been travelling for a week. Non-stop. He even walked through the night just to get here faster. He was dead on his feet last night and still would have climbed that stupid mountain if I hadn’t stopped him. I don’t think he’s slept properly since we left home. And then we found your harmonica, and your pack, and it was all torn to shreds and he thought you’d been eaten by wolves and then we thought you might be lying up on the mountain somewhere with a broken leg or something and then when we got here and the Moomins said you were here but we couldn’t see you cause you were too ill and he panicked, ok. He panicked. He was scared and desperate and your friend here wouldn’t move and there isn’t a mountain high enough to keep him away from you so he wasn’t about to let a Moomin do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little My stopped, panting for breath after her outburst. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath, steadying herself before looking back up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you please just go to him? I’ve never seen him like this before and there’s nothing I can do. It’s you he needs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin glanced at the door to the front room, indecision written clearly on his face. Beside him Moomin gave him a nudge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He really was in a terrible state when he arrived. And I’m fine, amn’t I Mama?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you are my dear,” Moominmama answered calmly. “It really is only a scratch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See,” said Moomin with a cheerful smile. “Nothing to worry about. Go, make sure Joxter is ok. I’ll still be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he hurt you! Aren’t you angry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moomin shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I thought you’d been eaten by wolves, I don’t know what I would do. It’s too awful to even think about. I can’t imagine how scared he must have been. I think I can forgive him a little scratch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin hesitated, still torn, but small fingers gripped his sleeve, tugging him off the chair and towards the door. Snufkin reached out, hand on the knob, and paused, looking down at Little My, who was tapping her foot impatiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will he be angry with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I will if you don’t hurry it up, and trust me, Mymbles do angry a lot better than soft old Mumriks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recognition passed over Snufkins’ face briefly, like a cloud in the breeze, before he shook his head to dispel it, turning the knob and passing through the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little My closed the door behind him with a sad sigh.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The Joxter was balled up like a worn old blanket, all patches and wrinkles and ragged edges where he sat slumped against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin stood with his back against the door, hand gripping in his borrowed shirt as he looked at the hunched shape on the stairs. From where he stood he could see the tremors in the older Mumriks shoulders, could hear the faint hitching breaths, and realised with a sickening lurch that the Joxter was crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly he padded forwards, bare feet nearly silent on the wooden floor, until he stood in front of his father, at a loss for what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing his presence the Joxter stilled, head tilting up to peer at him dejectedly, and Snufkin swallowed at the sight of the tear-streaked face. Crouching down he folded his own arms around his knees and the pair regarded each other in silence, broken only by the occasional hiccup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry, you go-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, please go on-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stuttered into silence again, eyes meeting before both looking away. The grandfather clock ticked. From the kitchen they heard Little My loudly demanding lunch. The Joxter chuckled weakly, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is she?” Snufkin asked, grasping for some kind of neutral ground. Joxter seemed relieved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little My. Mymble’s second child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin frowned, putting the pieces together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My… half-sister?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Snufkin said, at a loss for how to respond. “Wouldn’t that make her older than me? She’s very small.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t say that to her face if I were you,” the Joxter warned. “She’s feisty, that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I noticed,” Snufkin muttered and Joxter laughed softly, a fond smile playing briefly on his lips before dying away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the little Moomin ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin frowned, a cutting remark ready on his tongue, but the look of concern on Joxters’ face stayed him. It seemed genuine. Swallowing the barb he nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was only a scratch. Moominmama is cleaning it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank goodness. I’d hate to hurt the little lad. Though, he’s not all that little really, is he? Gave me a good wallop, that’s for sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moomin hit you?” Snufkin asked in disbelief. Joxter nodded, laughing ruefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did. Didn’t want me rushing up the stairs and frightening you. Knocked me flat on my tail. He must love you a great deal, to protect you so fiercely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin blushed, turning his face away in lieu of hiding under his hat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin turned back, confusion clear on his face. Joxter smiled sadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you have someone to look after you,” he clarified. “To keep you safe. I guess you really don’t need this old cat after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was. The ‘out’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true. Snufkin had managed all his life without parents. He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Joxters’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Foreboding</span>
  </em>
  <span> were, they wouldn’t save Snufkin if he was really in a jam. Not unless the Joxter was close by him anyway. Snufkin could almost see the bars of the cage around him, Joxter’s promise ‘to never leave Snufkin alone again’ still ringing in his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was the Joxter. Holding the door open for him. All Snufkin had to do was walk through it and he would be free.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Free? Or alone? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around him, taking in the familiar furniture and walls of the Moomins’ front room. He felt the wooden boards under his feet, and the warm sunshine on the back of his neck, streaming through the fanlight over the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t his house, but it was his home.When he had needed it, when he had been hurt and frightened and needed to feel safe, this was where his feet had taken him. He never felt stifled or trapped here, because the door was never locked, and maybe that was all the difference there was, really,  between a cage and a home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought of the look on Moomins’ face when he had brought back the crystal drop. He thought sadly of the third fishing float, unnecessary but loved all the same. He thought of the smile on Joxters’ face, of spending his birthday beside his father instead of alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Snufkin said quietly. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” Joxters’ face crumpled, but Snufkin pushed on. “But to only have what we </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, “well, that would be a poor sort of life to lead, I think. We have to allow ourselves a few wants as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter stared at him, eyes wide and hopeful, slowly unfolding from his hunched ball and reaching out haltingly, arms open and inviting, his heart bared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a breath, a pause as Snufkin stood on the threshold, suspended like the silence between heartbeats, like the heavy expectant moment between lightning strike and thunderclap. And then it broke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin clambered forwards, climbing into the Joxters’ lap like a child and letting himself be gathered up.Tucking his knees in under his chin he turned his face into the Joxters’ chest and relaxed in his arms, feeling them close tightly around him, holding him safe and close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No longer a cage, but a cradle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft rumble started, vibrating in the Joxters’ chest and filling Snufkins’ ears. The Joxter was swaying softly, rocking like a boat in a gentle Summer breeze, and Snufkin closed his eyes and thought of the sea and the sun and the peculiar weight of a full heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside the last of the ice broke away and drifted down the stream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spring had arrived.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is not the end. Not quite. There is a curtain call still to go. Probably not tomorrow, but soon.<br/>But first... take a moment. You've earned it. We all have.<br/>And if you want, let me know what you thought.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A quiet cough made Joxters’ ears prick up. He cracked one eye and nodded to Moominmama, careful not to move lest he wake Snufkin, curled up and fast asleep in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama smiled, padding silently over and smiling down at the pair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s food in the kitchen when you’re ready,” she said softly. “I’m sure you must be hungry after your long travel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Moominmama,” Joxter replied, returning her smile a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry to always cause so much fuss and bother. Is little Moomin alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, he’s fine. Don’t you worry about that. Little My explained what happened. I’m sure any of us would have panicked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snufkin grumbled in his sleep and Joxter forced himself to relax his grip, the memory of the woods still too close and too awful to bear. Breathing deeply he let it go, the warm body in his arms enough to drive away that awful gripping chill of fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life,” he muttered, half to himself, before meeting Moominmama's warm look with an apologetic one of his own. “I thought I had this parenting thing down, you know? Guess I’ve still got a few lessons to learn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moominmama leaned down, laying a warm paw on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We never stop learning. Life is an adventure and parenting is no different. All we can do in the end is our best. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing just fine. Though perhaps it might be good for you to stay a little longer this year. There's always a bed for you here. I'm sure Snufkin would be delighted, though he'd never admit it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joxter paused, listening. Outside birds were singing. Upstairs he could hear Moominpapa shuffling footsteps on the landing. Little My was arguing with Moomin in the kitchen. All around him the house was waking up, getting ready for the year, welcoming it's family again. He smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I hear Moominvalley hosts a very good mid-Summers party," he said.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No story is complete without a little epilogue. Emphasis on little. ;) Thank you all for joining me again for the adventures of dumb-cat-dad. I love him. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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